


Awkwardly Perfect

by Kitty_KatAllie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys' Love, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/pseuds/Kitty_KatAllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short story of Lysander and Scorpius' beginning. Lysander had been fascinated with Scorpius for almost five years and enjoyed most to watch him fly. After several months of watching the Slytherin practice, he's finally confronted by the object of his innocent voyeurism. Lysander is in for an awkwardly pleasant surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awkwardly Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alley_Skywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/gifts).



Awkwardly Perfect

 

Lysander Scamander wasn’t really the chatty type. That was his older brother, Lorcan, the Hufflepuff prefect whom got along with everyone. Lysander was a bit more like his mother. He had her dirty blond hair that fell over his eyes, her pale blue eyes, and her quiet way of speaking the most unnerving things. He liked reading the Quibbler, though nowadays, his parents ran it a bit more… factually. The Quibbler actually had a much better reputation for being a great magazine of fascinating adventure stories and rare creature documentaries from their own personal adventures and those of their acquaintances. It was a great hit with a lot of teenage wizards and witches now, even with the few, more “conspiratorial” articles that slipped in. While Lorcan was a shining Quidditch star of the school, one of the best Chasers in his year, who had led the Hufflepuff team to the Quidditch Cup two years in a row, Lysander preferred to sit in the bleachers with a Quibbler or some other volume handy. His brother talked about going on adventures like their parents did, but Lysander would rather run the Quibbler or work in a bookstore. All-in-all, most people didn’t notice Lysander, unless he did something strange.

So, that morning, when he grabbed some marmalade-covered toast and some rashers of bacon and left the Great Hall, none of his fellow Ravenclaws said a word. A few waved, or called out a cheerful good morning before continuing on with their breakfast or conversation with benchmates. It was really early, though, much earlier than most students’ waking hours. There was at least an hour and half before most students came down for breakfast. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday morning, without fail, Lysander woke up an hour earlier than he normally did just to go eat out on the Quidditch pitch. He enjoyed eating outside, where he didn’t have awkward moments of accidentally knocking someone else’s elbow, thinking intently only to find out he was accidentally staring at someone across the table, or getting tea spilled over his current reading material. However, he liked eating outside the best when there was a show.

A certain show involving emerald green capes and flying broomsticks. A certain show called Slytherin morning practice.

Lysander found his usual seat in the stands, on the Ravenclaw side out of habit, but closer to the front than he normal sat during actual games. He set out his bag and his Quibbler and began to munch away on his breakfast, for the hundredth time cursing the fact he forgot a mug of tea. Toast, no matter the amount of marmalade, was just _too dry_. He didn’t go back, though, for the hundredth time. Instead, he sat back and watched the Slytherins play. It was well into November now and Scotland (or wherever Hogwarts hid) was getting cold. Lysander lived pretty far north himself, and when he was really sleepy, he didn’t really notice the cold. Instead, he lazily watched the Slytherin’s play for another fifty or so minutes, completely enraptured by their movements.

Or really… _his_ movements. His gliding so effortlessly. As if he never walked on land, but rather lived for flying. Even Lorcan and James Potter couldn’t fly like _him_ , in Lysander’s opinion. Both James and Lorcan had such flashy positions: Seeker and Chaser, respectively. There really wasn’t enough credit given to Beaters. The exact amount of leverage and strength required to send that hurtling monstrosity, not only away from team mates, but towards a goal wanted by the Beater. And yet, somehow, the Beater had to remain seated on the broomstick, perfectly balanced and controlled. No excess movement, no excess strength, no hesitation of the slightest amount in that single moment of impact. It was beautiful, really. And looking at Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy off the broomstick, most people thought Beater would be the last position for him.

Lysander never thought so, though. No, Beater fit Scorpius perfectly.

He’d first been enchanted with Scorpius five years ago, September 1st, on Platform 9 and ¾. He had looked so lonely, really. With his haughty-faced father and his proud-featured mother. Lysander’s mother, his dearest friend, had hugged him close and gave him wise advice he took to heart and never forgot. His father had hugged him even tighter, kissed his forehead, and smacked his back, telling him his first year would be one he never forgot. And his older brother had teased him, laughed at him for being a baby, and promised to show him the ropes.

But Scorpius’ father merely patted his shoulder. His mother only smoothed his hair and straightened his robes. And he had no siblings to tease him or make him feel safe rather than scared.

From then on, Lysander had watched Scorpius. How awkwardly he fit in his group. How few clubs he joined. How poorly he did in classes. And then, in their third year… he got on a broomstick. Lysander finally saw Scorpius smile. Saw him fit in and grin and laugh. He was popular with the Slytherin fifth years, and even some Ravenclaw girls blushed and pointed as he walked past. Lorcan told his parents over the breaks that Hufflepuff was finding it harder and harder to win against Slytherin with Scorpius on the roster and had laughingly admitted this past summer that they might finally lose the Cup.

And Lysander became more and more entranced with his year-mate. He often wished to talk to him, but unlike his entire family, Lysander was shy. He got tongue-tied when he so much as _saw_ Scorpius in the hallways. His normally placid features flushed and he would find it difficult to breathe. Sometimes, he even dropped things for no particular reason. It was quite upsetting. However, watching Scorpius play was just right. He was a far enough distance away none of his strange symptoms started. He could enjoy Scorpius in his best element. And he got to see Scorpius’ rare smile. Yes. This had been a great idea.

Practice eventually ended to Lysander’s dismay. The Slytherins still had to go in for breakfast, not to mention shower and change for classes. They all flew down to the pitch and dismounted, laughing and joking. There normally weren’t many girls flying in Slytherin, but this year two sixth years had tried out and been placed as Chasers. They were huddled together, chatting about something as the other five guys walked ahead. Scorpius was in the middle, the center of attention as usual these days, his fair hair gleaming in the sunlight. It was normally slicked back, but the rough practice had it falling into his eyes. He was laughing at something Cristoff was saying, passing under the Ravenclaw stands. Lysander leaned forward, perching his chin on his hands that he laid on the railing. He could just barely catch their words, as far down as they were.

“…hear… you Captain,” MacNair was saying.

“Yes, Professor Hemlock hinted it to me. Not that I’m surprised. You’re graduating this summer, right, Cauldwell?” Scorpius replied with a negligent shrug.

“Yeah. Lucky you. Famous Hogwarts Beater, prefect, most likely Head Boy in a couple years, Quidditch Captain. Who knew odd ickle Malfoy with the bad family rep could turn out so good, right?” Cauldwell taunted, mussing up his younger teammate’s hair and pushing down on his head at the same time. Cauldwell was a big, burly Keeper, so while Scorpius was almost his height, he had nothing on his sheer muscle size.

“Geroff!” Scorpius snarled, elbowing him the in ribs. The other boys guffawed.

“The only other kid in your year worth worrying about is Potter. Little do-gooder,” Avery grumbled.

“Al is a good sport and he keeps his nose clean. James and Louis are the gits. So shut up, Avery,” Scorpius retorted, smacking him upside the head.

Lysander smiled. Malfoys, Potters, and Weasleys had bad blood between them, but Albus Potter, as much as people complained he was a goodie-little-two-shoes at times, was universally liked. No one could hate him for long- he was just too _good_ , unlike his brother, who was Scorpius’ well-known rival on and off the pitch, even though James was older and a Seeker. It was nice that Scorpius stood up for Albus despite his intense dislike of the older brother.

“If you like him so much, why don’t you just-”

“Oh, shut up, Avery,” Charlotte interrupted, throwing herself on Scorpius’ arm as Dahlia snagged the other. He grinned at both them.

“That was great flying, but you girls should play nice with Avery. He is your other Chaser,” Scorpius teased.

“Oh, he’s such a bore,” Dahlia retorted. She and Charlotte continued chattering away at him, but they had finally passed too far to hear.

Lysander sighed as the team had trooped into the changing rooms and then he dusted his hands free of crumbs, put the untouched Quibbler neatly in his bag for later, and started his trek down the stands. As he picked up to leave, he didn’t notice Scorpius get pushed back out the changing rooms, broomstick still in hand and cape still on. The Malfoy snarled something over his shoulder, but glanced up towards the Ravenclaw stands, scowled and turned red, before marching towards the blue-and-bronze-decorated wooden bleachers. Lysander obliviously made his way down the stairs, then reached the bottom and pulled up short.

In front of him stood Scorpius in his sweaty, blond-haired, flushed face glory. He looked so disheveled and at ease, so different from Lysander’s glimpses in the corridors. He was leaning against the one of the posts of the stands, his Nimbus Unlimited held in the crook of his elbow, and his wrist bracers hanging loosely from one hand. He was scowling towards the changing rooms, but the expression shifted to something a little more uncomfortable and uneasy when he caught sight of Lysander.

“Hey,” Scorpius said shortly.

Lysander felt the heat rush to his face and the napkin in his hand slipped past his fingers. “Ah!” he exclaimed wordlessly ( _idiotically_ ), snatching for it. From the corner of his eyes, emerald flashed. Then, their heads bonked and they both fell, hard, to the group, groaning and clutching their heads.

 _That was the most ridiculous, most cliché, most- most everything that could possibly go wrong! Oh, Merlin’s pants_ , Lysander thought in horror, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Hey, er, this is yours, right?” interrupted Scorpius’ voice. Lysander slowly pried his eyes open. Scorpius was gazing at him strangely, his face still red, and looking rather confused. In his outstretched hand was the napkin. “You’re a Lovegood, right? Lorcan’s little brother in Ravenclaw.”

“In your year,” Lysander blurted, grabbing the napkin and shoving it in his bag.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I guess you don’t want to be compared to your brother, huh? I don’t really get how siblings work, sorry,” Scorpius said, rubbing the back of his neck and getting to his feet. “Need a hand?”

Lysander blinked and grasped Scorpius’, once again, outstretched hand. He took that brief moment to enjoy it. The rough calluses on Scorpius’ warm palms, the shy grimace on Scorpius’ face, the smooth, deep tones of a boy just barely on the adult-side of puberty; it all sent a thrill from the top of his skull, making his shaggy blond hair rise, all the way to his toes. Their hands dropped quickly, too quickly, and they both stood awkwardly silent and staring in opposite directions.

“Thanks. My name is Lysander, by the way.”

“Right, Lysander. Most people call me Ryan. Er- I saw you- I mean, I’ve seen you- my team….” Scorpius stumbled to a stop and cleared his throat. “My team’s been wondering why you’ve been coming to our practices all term. You’re Lorcan’s brother and the game against Hufflepuff is coming up…” he trailed off.

“Oh- _Oh_! You think I’m spying? I don’t know enough about Quidditch to do that. I just enjoy watching you fly,” Lysander explained. He never even noticed just how strange that might sound. He wasn’t shy about _honesty_ , just shy about being _near Scorpius_. He could see the sweat on the other teen’s forehead, then. When the boy stuttered over nothing and his whole pale face flamed bright red, Lysander blinked in confusion. “Are you quite all right, Scorpius? I have… a handkerchief…” he pulled it free, a silly blue and bronze one his mother got him for a stocking stuffer on Christmas, and handing it over. “It’s Ravenclaw colors…” he broke off doubtfully.

Scorpius took it and stared at it. “I don’t really care about the colors. So… you… you _are_ coming to watch me?” he all but whispered. Lysander stared at Scorpius’ bowed head.

“Yes. How did you know? I didn’t think it was obvious,” Lysander asked curiously. Scorpius hid his crimson face behind the handkerchief, wiping away some of the sweat.

“My team mates… well, Charlotte and Dahlia, the Chasers, they’ve been teasing me for a while. In Herbology, you’ve looked over at me then, too… And… they said they’ve seen you look back at me in the corridors…” he shuffled a little and shrugged. “But girls, you know, they over exaggerate everything.

“I don’t think your friends over exaggerated. You noticed me looking in Herbology? I never realized I was. My apologies,” Lysander said absently, trying to remember actually catching himself at it. He wasn’t too surprised, but it must be somewhat awkward for Scorpius.

Scorpius gave him that same, odd look. “Apologies? I… I guess I should be weirded out… but… I guess I’m flattered,” he said slowly. Lysander gazed at him, giving him what his father called the “Luna Look.” Normally people would shrink away from his unblinking stare, and Scorpius did, certainly, look uncomfortable, but he stayed put.

“You’re flattered that I watch you? Truly?”

“Well, if you watch me bathing or something, that’s just, well, I’d have to hex you for being a creep, but you don’t. So, yeah, flattered. I mean… it means… it means you like me, right?” Scorpius stammered out, his face growing red at his words.

But Lysander froze, his eyes somehow growing even wider.

“You’re right. I… I _do_ like you. Why didn’t I think about that?” he breathed aloud, utterly blown away.

Scorpius stared at him again, before bursting into laughter. “Y-You mean, you didn’t know? Maybe you _don’t_ then?”

“I guess I don’t know for sure, then, Scorpius. I am glad you don’t mind I watch you practice,” Lysander conceded with a slight shrug. He was glad, though, that he had made Scorpius laugh like that. Too bad he didn’t know how he managed it… or why.

“Ryan. Really, just call me Ryan.”

“Ryan? I don’t understand. Your name is Scorpius.”

“It’s from my middle name. I got the mickey taken out on me for years because of that stupid name. Most pureblood families don’t even use stupid old names like that,” Scorpius muttered. “Dahlia came up with Rion, from Hyperion.”

“Oh, _Rion_ , not Ryan. That makes more sense.”

Scorpius looked at him oddly again, as if checking to make sure Lysander wasn’t making fun of him, but Lysander only gazed back blankly. He exhaled a bit and smirked at Lysander.

“Well, I have to go, but… in Herbology… you can be my partner, if you want,” Scorpius offered, a sort of haughty tone to his voice that made Lysander smile. It was a small, shy sort of smile, but it made Scorpius’ smirk widen into a grin.

“I would like that. Maybe I will figure out if I like you,” Lysander mused. Scorpius turned away to hide his sudden blush.

“Yeah, maybe. I have to go now, er, see you,” he backed away a bit, trying not to turn his back, but trying to go at the same time.

Lysander chuckled and then nodded. “Yes, see you in Herbology tomorrow. Also, Scorpius, the last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas break, would you like to have a butterbeer with me?”

Scorpius froze and grinned. “Yeah, that-” he broke off and cleared his throat, clearly trying to stamp down the excitement. “I mean, yeah. If you want. I’ll be there.” He turned and jogged away.

Lysander watched him for a moment and then turned, humming softly. He should have gathered his courage a long time ago. That was easy enough.

He didn’t notice Scorpius looking over his shoulder at him that bemused, yet pleased smile on his face.


End file.
